April Fools
by Vanessa S. Quest
Summary: Reid can't help but recollect previous pranks, but nothing is quite as horrible as this- then again, that one was REALLY bad that time before... and this year's prank might not be so awful after all!


April Fools

Dr. Spencer Reid is not a _fan_ of the first of the month for several reasons.

Besides the obvious hang-over of work from the previous month that is now past-due and the overall sour mood the staff more likely will than will-not have is part of the problem. The ambiance of the pissed off higher-ups waiting to do their work, and thus making sure to bring the fire and the boom-sticks also adds to the cheerfulness that is blatantly- _blatantly_ lacking in the confined office. It does feel confining on the first of the month, as if the cubicles are shrunk three inches in size only to be back to full size once the week ends.

The third reason Reid hates the start of the month is because of what happens one-twelfth of the time this occurs. April First. Everyone thinks 'Oh, you're a magician, you must have great stories of old pranks…' or 'You like Halloween, you must love today too, you get to trick people!' No, pranks are not tricks. Tricks can be pranks, they can, but they don't have to be. They also don't have to be mean-spirited, pranks almost exclusively are.

Like that time when his chemistry class switched his 0.1M NaOH with 1.0M NaOH during the acid-base reactions in class. It was absolutely fantastic how the entire class filled with noxious fumes and he had to use a respirator mask when the fire department came. Nothing says funny like chemical burns.

Or the time in college when a friend of his roommate decided to move all of his furniture so it was facing the wall, the heavy, ornate 300 pound when empty furniture, which was in fact very full with his books and clothes… and keys, and wallet. It wouldn't be too big of a deal if he had been of size to move it back, but he was 13 years old and small-built. He was still cracking puberty's code and was left to 'fix it', he managed, with levers and rope… but not before three passerbys called security swearing some kid was about to hang himself.

During his PhD years, people were far too busy to care about razzing each other, the biggest prank he got that day was someone switching the caf for decaf, which got an entire study group pissed off at him and made him go to Starbucks to buy them all a coffee each, and if he messed it up he'd be tossed from the group. The coffee had returned un-fucked up.

Reid had sworn that the FBI, that the professional world in general, would be like this. If anyone even bothered, it would be small and utterly pathetic, or dismissible as an accident or unnoticed- nothing that would cost time, energy, or _money_ to fix.

Oh how wrong he had been.

Surprise, surprise during his cadet years he had been the focus of the hazing. Probably because his physical requirements were often overlooked and he didn't HAVE to take so long to memorize things, so by all fairness he should HAVE to pass the other stuff to make it fair for the others, because somehow someone thought it was graded on a curve. He shook his head, just remembering about the day put him in a mood.

Someone who will go unnamed had decided to glue his shoes to his locker. It was annoying, and prying up his Converses had almost made him late, but he managed to get by. If it had stopped there, the day would've been fine. It hadn't. Someone else decided to strategically rip stitches from the hem of his sweatpants which made themselves known, luckily, in the locker room just after they were done with training that day and not a minute sooner.

That had been a close call, and he realized he was the focus of a group, he never really liked that. That always ended badly for him.

Then the pranks started to become more elaborate, a squirting ink-pen was switched out for his regular one- which he noticed immediately and placed back into his desk until someone grabbed it to 'borrow it' and then got ink all over their face.

They had assumed it was Reid's joke and tried to get even- physically- by using his shirt to wipe it off their face. That had actually irked him, he could tell by the sniggers just who the name of the hazer had been on that prank. Now, in his gym shirt but dress pants, he had to outlast the day when the final prank of the day had finally come. It was the last time Reid ever drove in to work in April- or late March, just to be careful.

Someone had stuffed a lubricated sock into his muffler, drained his gas tank almost completely empty, and tampered with his dashboard- covering it with tarry oil- so he wouldn't see he was riding on E. If it had stopped there, Andrew Lakesmith might still be with the Bureau and Reid might have still drove in to work on a semi-regular basis.

Andrew Lakesmith then proceeded to don all black apparel, a fake bowing-knife dipped in boysenberry syrup and follow him up the road until his car conked out. He had to give Andrew points for actually leaving him JUST enough gas to make it to a relatively secluded part of the pathway. When Reid's car sputtered to a frightening stop, he got out of his car- half high off fumes, disorientated and unsure of what happened to his combustion engine. He turned off the car that refused to move in fear of killing his battery. When his lights had turned off, a car parked twenty yards back and their lights were killed off too.

He found it weird, if a motorist wanted to help him they'd have to know he was in trouble, and how could they? He didn't even know he was in trouble, that had been his thought as he played through the scenario, then he realized with his car tampered with in one place it was likely in another place too.

That's when he saw the dark figure wielding a knife.

By then he was outside inspecting his car- found the thing in his muffler and removed it- but still had no idea why his car wasn't running. There is a chill remembering the way the night had looked, and he was sure it was burnt into his mind because of how traumatizing it was and not because of his eidetic memory.

The gleam of the knife, and then the way the man looked at him, knowing he saw it and knew what it was- the sprint as they both made it halfway down the street before the unsub had tackled him from behind, and then Reid flipped him. The first time his practical self-defense skills had WORKED and oh how glad he was for it! The knife bent as it buckled into the road. It was a stage prop, Reid realized, not before getting shoved in the throat and off Andrew. Somehow the prank had escalated into a brawl, a horribly one-sided brawl Reid had thought, before a motorist- and fellow FBI member pulled over at the sight of the commotion.

One Agent Jason Gideon found his protégé being attacked in a secluded stretch of poorly lit road, after finding his car abandoned up the way, and then suddenly it was all 'a practical joke'.

Up until Gideon drew his gun and told Andrew that, "If you chased a girl down the road with a 'knife' and assaulted her like that, you'd be doing twenty to life, April 1st or not. If you even step foot into HQ to tender your resignation, I'll have charges brought up. Now, I can't guarantee if you quit now there won't be files charged, that's Spencer's decision, but look at him. He seems like a nice, reasonable, up-standing kind of guy. Would you risk it?"

"I… I… announce my resignation sir, I'm… uh, not cut out for this after all! I have two gas canisters in my car that I used to store what I siphoned out of his car… I was only going to scare him a little then give it back, I really didn't mean to hit him- but then he flipped me… and I thought he wouldn't really fight back, I thought I'd shake him up- make him realize what he's REALLY getting into here!"

"Apology accepted, get the hell away from me." Reid had said without even offering a handshake. It became a legend- how an FBI cadet just disappeared one day completely off the grid, not contacting anyone. There was speculations he died, but they were all sure someone would tell them if that were true. That had been the worst of it, but two years later when Morgan put a dead rat next to the sugar and a same-shaped 'rodenticide' next to it… Reid had done a double-take. He even googled amounts of rodenticide necessary to cause morbidity and mortality in adult male 140 pounds healthy. He realized fairly quickly he'd be truly dead or showing if it had been the rodenticide and kept drinking his coffee.

Jonesburg had taken the painstaking time to move everyone's files in the office to the person three drawers down, including his own files mind you- to throw off the suspicion, and had it not been for Hotch calling out, "Agent Reid, yours are in my desk."

Followed immediately by Morgan's, "I have Richardson's." Reid wouldn't have figured out who did it.

He did, of course, "Jonesburg, just because your files are in my desk doesn't mean I'm going to write that report for you. I know all of my reports and case-work. Seriously, IQ 187, did you miss that memo?"

Jonesburg groaned while the others laughed at his expense, some even calling out "April Fools!"

Of course, Reid smiled triumphantly, the origin of 'fool' was actually a very clever person who would go to great lengths to entertain and amuse a member of court.

He still hates the day. As he looks at his desk and spots on his chair a red envelope with left-handed calligraphy on his chair he squints his eyes in contemplation.

Of the team, and no one outside of the team would have the cojones to razz a BAU'er, only one was left-handed. One very level-headed non-practical jokester Section Head, but of all the people to do it, wouldn't the boss be the least likely to suspect?

He stared at the envelope and what it could possibly mean. Maybe Hotch was just sending him a letter, there was no doubt the handwriting was his, and he wasn't making any attempts to hide it either, so if he was meant to know who it was…

Rolling his eyes, he opened the letter, took the cursory look-over to memorize it, go about as scarlet as the envelope, calmly fold the paper and put it back into the envelope, lose the blush and walk up to Hotch's office and knock.

"Come in." He said, not even glancing up from the door.

"Uh, I… uh, got your letter."

"Reid! Good, good come in, care to shut the door?" He gestures.

He does so, not out of courtesy or privacy, but because he thinks he might get a little loud and disruptive.

"So…?" Hotch starts, using the interrogation technique of baiting silence.

"So." Reid repeats back, deadpan. It concerns Hotch for a moment, that look of did he overstep a line, did he misinterpret something… the look, and Reid can't help but chide himself for finding it so achingly attractive- and probably the very reason for the razz.

"…So?" He attempts again, fixing a steely gaze. Reid realizes it profiles all wrong, it's like a person readying their mental shields for rejection, not for someone about to laugh off a joke.

"Hotch, do you know what day it is today?" Reid says, his entire demeanor shifting in that instance, he smiles a laxed look, his shoulders falling with his tension. No, Hotch isn't mean-spirited, but he is a workaholic who lives by his Blackberry- which the last case had it all but destroyed when it took a swim with him- and an off-date daily calendar.

"Thursday. Oh! Right, if it conflicts with your… movie night… I can reschedule, easily, so easy it's already done." He says, reaching for his phone, he hesitates when Reid rolls his eyes. He couldn't possibly have misread the man twice, could he have? That is the look Reid sees reflecting back at him while he locks eyes with Hotch.

He looks away, bowing out of a staring contest, smiling, blushing a little. Hotch is way too good at those for an amateur like him to even throw in on.

"Hotch, the calendar's on the wrong day, it's Friday." He lets out a slight laugh, "But do you know the _date_ today?"

Reid thinks for a moment maybe that was still a bad word to use given the situation. His fingers reflexively curl around the envelope in his pocket. Damn, he should've risked a cup of coffee this morning… probably from Starbucks, he doubted the sanctity of caffeinated/decaffeinated survived the cadets or greener agents.

"The first." Hotch mentions, weighing it to find the meaning that Reid has put into it. It mulls around but Reid can tell Hotch also skipped some essential coffee, the end of the month lay-overs hit the BAU hard this year without two extra sets of seasoned hands, and one unseasoned pair that gets reports returned more often than pushed though and finished without revision.

In fact, that was the reason he even came in at god-awful early o'clock, to help Seaver's 'finished reports' get finished for Hotch, fine tune them and then later show her where to improve and pray he doesn't have to do it again once July hits… he'd give her some time to learn of course.

"What month is it." Not even questioning anymore, Reid just lays it bare, "You ask me that _today_ of all days. I know you didn't just suddenly grow a sense of humor, but did you _really_ suddenly grow a bad sense of timing?"

Hotch touches his forehead, "Right, April Fools, you usually have a target on you too. I apologize. That offer is genuine though." Hotch looks back at Reid, this time his eyes hold something there, begging a real question and Reid for a moment is at a complete loss. He had stormed up here to defend himself- not come to a conclusive decision about Hotch's courtship.

His face falls, "Oh my god you actually do mean it," He smiles brightly, "I mean… so you feel the same way too? I mean… oh god, if that's a trap… this isn't a trap right? For a sexual harassment seminar? We're already two agents down- well, one and a half if Seaver counts back in, you can't lose out another to suspension right now, there's no way this is a set-up right?"

"Right, you always have over-the-top target-seekers. You really are a magnet for bullies. Again, the offer is completely genuine, do you need until lunch to form an answer?"

"Seven O'Clock."

"You need that long to answer? Or do you mean AM?" Hotch said, glancing at his watch, that would be in ten minutes.

"No, no, no, I mean pick me up at 7 O'Clock." Reid smiles, "And more to the point, I think dinner and a show would be fantastic."

"I'm glad, I know I said I could reschedule… but really, tickets last minute to a sold-out theater production would have required bribing Garcia and her theater group. I don't like to resort to bribery- mind you, I would have if it really isn't a good day for you..."

"This will be in my 29 years history the best day April First has ever been, presuming the theater doesn't catch on fire." He said with a finger point for punctuation.

"We're in box seats, those are fairly easy to get to an emergency exit."

"Well there you go, we're still in good shape. Um, what show is it?"

"Three Men on a Horse and Cactus Flower, the critics are giving rave reviews for it." Hotch shuffles some papers soundlessly before giving his subordinate a look, "The show starts at 9, it's a late runner, so how does dinner, a show, and drinks afterwards sound?"

He catches himself before actually uttering, 'Melodic' but it was a very close call, "Manageable, definitely manageable, should we… uh, catch a taxi into the city then? If we're going for drinks after the show, I mean. You can come back to my place afterwards and crash if you need to." He says with a less than subtle delivery that Hotch can't help but find endearing.

If Garcia ever used a line like that on Morgan it would be a blatant read, but for Reid, he probably did find it practical, why Hotch could only dream up, but that didn't matter. Be the fates bid a slow or fast courtship, as long as it was a lasting one, he'd be happy with it.

Fin.


End file.
